


i’m so tired (of love songs)

by awkwardspeech



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Staring, blanket AND pillow fort, blanket fort, but it dissolves into, i'm a genius i know i know, pillow fort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardspeech/pseuds/awkwardspeech
Summary: there’s a storm going on and michael’s stupidly getting high on his front porch. jeremy, classified idiot, comes running.





	i’m so tired (of love songs)

         Wisps of smoke curl, entangling against the harsh wind; enlacing as plump and chapped lips crease into a thin, crooked line. A grunt. Lopsided thick-rimmed glasses lay just at the tip of the teenager's nose, having no care for it as the rest of the street was left blurred without the help of its magnifying lenses.

 

    The tawny male's hair left windswept, brown eyes gazing at unclear clouds dulling and smeared pristine white specks dotting along the tired night.

 

    Dirty. He feels trashy and messy as his heart quickly drained of positive emotion, disgust for his own self growing. The notification ring of his slick black phone rung through his ears, almost shattering his eardrums as his eyes cascaded down to the recently-cracked screen.

 

    It's four in the morning. Why is he getting a text at four in the goddamned morning?

 

> **dumbass**
> 
> Hey.
> 
> Michael?
> 
> You there??
> 
>  

    The male threw his worthless phone across the dim-lit street with an inaudible cursed breath, not wanting to remember. " _Fuck you_ ," the apparent Michael hissed, his strained throat struggling to cooperate. Profanities that were spoken only in Tagalog drifted along winds as airy fog accompanied short after.

 

    "Fuck you," he repeated. Michael wants to hate this dumbass. He wants to utterly despise this boy and right after, he'd tear himself apart so that his body ached until numbness resided within it.

 

    A clash of thunder and unwanted rain drowned the prolonged silence. The Filipino sat mindlessly at his porch, swift droplets of water splashing at his face now and then — but he didn't mind. Well, he did mind but he didn't have the motivation and energy to stand up and get back inside. So he stared, clothing gradually getting more and more soaked with rainwater.

 

    But it's not like that'd matter. Who's to think someone will come running at his doorstep at four in the morning just to help him? No one. Why would they? It's four in the morning, nobody mentally sane would get up in four in the morning just to save his dependent-issued ass.

 

    That assumption was almost immediately debunked as a tall, lanky figure came hurtling towards him at a fast pace. It's raining. He's going to get himself sick, for God's sake. But Michael's going to get himself sick, too, so he was in no valid position to complain.

 

    He didn't know who the hell decided to run in the rain without an umbrella and come running straight for his home — only a dumbass would do that. But the dumbass who texted him was a dumbass, so that would be a reasonable prediction to make. The harsh winds knocked Michael off of his seat, a begrudging groan emitting from the back of his throat once his back met the oakwood porch with a thump.

    His glasses flew from his nose and he was left with blurry vision.

 

    The tanned male lifted himself slightly with a pained cry; pathetic tears he had been unknowingly been holding back finally rolled down his cheeks. Michael lay himself back to the floor, all of his limbs unsurprisingly giving up. A strained, lackluster smile welcomed itself onto his lips.

 

    Michael had almost forgotten about the running-through-the-rain idiot right then and there until the loud splashes of feet atop puddles were heard, soon then replaced with the creaking and thumping of his wooden porch. Fuck. Just leave him alone, please—

 

    Of course, it was too late for his wishes to be thought out and considered by fate because a pair of damp-clothed arms wrapped against his torso, the unknown figure almost squeezing the life out of him.

 

    "I'm sorry," they whispered and almost instantaneously, Michael knew who it belonged to. His weak frame racked with sobs and he felt his heart pang harshly. A hand instinctively reached to grasp on the other's wet clothing, tugging on it as if his life depended on it.

 

    And considering the situation now: maybe his life literally did depend on it.

 

    A beat.

 

    "It's four in the morning and I don't know what I did but I'm sorry." The blurred figure rambled, cautiously picking Michael aloft as the tear-streaked male's glasses were messily placed back onto the bridge of his red, stuffy nose.

 

    He couldn't really find it in his vocal cords to speak, but with a few dry wheezes and forced hums he managed to get one thing out:

 

    " _J-J... Jerm_."

 

    It didn't come out smoothly and perfectly, but that was all his throat allowed him at the moment. And it was good enough. He knew what he meant and the other knew what he meant, too. And that was one of the things that mattered.

 

    _Jerm_  responded with an exhausted chuckle, which sounded more like a grunt, turning the knob of Michael's door and swinging it wide open. The duo stumbled messily into the room, muddying the once-clean, hardwood floor.

 

    The paler of the two (' _Jerm_ ') sucked in a sharp breath, hugging at Michael again. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," he croaked. "Whatever I did, Michael, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I swear." He swore, whispering promises and reassuring mumbles into his ear.

 

    "Never."

 

 

* * *

 

 

        There was nothing but dizzy-inducing stars clouding over his vision, to which was highly anticipated by both of the utterly drenched (and undoubtedly stupid) sixteen-year-olds. Because of their equal stupidity, as four in the morning hit the clock, Jeremy'd (also known as 'Jurr') found himself haphazardly booking it across dimly-lit slathered streets that screamed 'caution' as his mind lavished with great trepidation. Wistfully, he had ditched the umbrella when he'd made a run for it in the astringent torrent.

 

    As predicted, it wasn't so much of a great experience for the lanky male when he had done so, though faint triumph swelled in his chest when he managed to successfully save his best friend's drowning figure from the porch.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

         The next numerous passing moments dragged by rather sluggishly (to the duo's dismay) as Michael glanced back and forth from their water-logged clothes hanging with the support of far-too-bright titian orange hangers, brown eyes then flickering over to Jeremy; back to the hangers again. This action repeated until a loud crash of thunder struck so suddenly, causing Michael to wince and Jeremy to let out a shrill yelp.

 

    An exaggerated sigh fell from the shorter's mouth, eyebrows furrowing as his lips quivered in hesitance to speak up. His glasses slid down to his face once more, nose scrunching in annoyance as he brought a hand up to remove it altogether. The dusky male took in a sharp breath, his free hand clasped into a tightly held fist.

 

    "What did I do?"

 

    Jeremy had finally gathered the courage to collect words, forming them to create the only question that's been itching irritatingly at his throat, eager and desperate to know of what he had done. Michael, on the other hand, flinched at hearing his friend's soothing voice — unbeknownst of a clear, unshadowed reason.

    It felt as if fog had blanketed the room, the pouring rain slowing its pace and quieting down.

 

    "Nothing," Michael whispered. He shook his head to accompany his response, eyes drilling toward the hardwood flooring of his own home. It suddenly didn't feel like home to him, and his chest twisted and ached at the newfound, seemingly familiar feeling. He mentally shook his head at this, exhaling a breath he never knew he was holding.

 

    "You didn't do anything."

 

    Jeremy swore he _smelt_ the bullshit lacing together with his voice, eyes narrowing to show that he was unconvinced. And though it wasn't the time, the paler of the two crossed his arms for melodramatic effect.

 

    To the other's defeat, he sighed and ran a hand through dark, tangled hair. He absolutely did not want to verbally speak of his cowardice struggles and weak mindset, ridding permit of doing so. For Michael's response, he only shook his head and left it at that.

    Jeremy frowned, though pushed away the desperation and curiosity to wait for later, as now had not seemed like the time for it anyway.

 

    They needed to fix themselves at this moment and get comfy; feel safe from the rainy weather that spilled outdoors and away from the silence's mild discomfort.

 

    Just wait.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

         "Hey, Michael." Jeremy hissed.

 

    " _What_?" the other whined, dragging the 'A' as he exasperatedly stuffed his face into the pillow his head once lay. They've just woken up and his best friend's already got something to say. Can't it wait? Michael's only wanted to get more sleep, his eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and curly mop of hair falling upon his face.

 

    The paler of the two only scoffed in response, bringing himself back down beside him and shoving the blanket over their rather diverse figures. "Whiney asshole," he muttered under his breath, shutting his eyes momentarily before blinking them open once more.

    It was difficult for him to fall asleep just after waking, voicing an exaggerated grunt. Jeremy flopped to his side, tired blue eyes meeting dull brown as he felt his cheeks flare crimson, realizing that their noses were just barely touching.

 

    He inhaled through his nose.

 

    "Hi," he spoke through the morning quiet.

 

    Jeremy watched as Michael chuckled lightly, seeing his nose scrunch in the process. The tanned male playfully shoved his friend before going back to his previous position: eyes closed and breaths shallow. Unfortunately and fortunately for Jeremy, it was as if last night had never happened. Fortunate because everything felt okay again, and Michael seemed so much more of a better state than before. Unfortunate because Jeremy wished to have found out what he'd done wrong — or what happened, really. Even a vague detail of the reasoning would be enough to satisfy his curiosity at this point.

 

    But right now could be an exception, Jeremy decides, and so he's snuggled himself up under the thick covers of Michael's Pac-Man printed blanket with said Michael sleeping in the comfort of his impossibly soft mattress. Quiet, faint breaths tickled against Jeremy's forehead, a smile unknowingly creeping upon his face.

 

    It's silent again for the next passing minutes.

 

    And this time, Michael is the one who speaks, voice cutting through thin air. "You're staring," he mumbles tiredly, and Jeremy blinks. Michael breathes out softly;

 

    "I can feel it."

 

    Jeremy blinks once more, eyes almost immediately darting around the room in replacement of his best friend's face. His best friend's cute, enticing face. His best friend's cute, enticing; tired face. His best friend Michael Mell's face.

 

    Said Michael Mell snorted, eyelids finally flying open. Only now Jeremy's noticed he has pretty eyes. Pretty brown eyes, like Hershey's chocolate but better. Richer. "You're staring again," his friend states and pushes himself to sit up, figure propped against the headboard. His arm drapes over his stomach, the other being of use to run a hand through tangled hair. Talking specifically, Jeremy's hair. It's a pretty color, strawberry blonde.

 

    And then he's staring again.

 

    "Sorry," the taller quickly apologizes.

 

    Michael responded with the shake of his head, a stupidly huge grin that hung lopsided as the corner of his eyes crinkled glued to his face. His stupid cute face. His stupid cute, pretty face—

 

    "You need to quit the staring, man," Michael rolled his eyes jokingly, waving a hand in front of the paler, to which Jeremy responds with bursting into a fit of incoherent stutters.

   The boy was certainly not the best when it came to explaining, and he was sure to suffer with this weakness for the entirety of his life. Might as well throw away his vocal cords altogether while he's at it, then maybe his slip-ups and annoying high-pitched shrieks wouldn't have to exist ever again.

 

   His prolonged string of gibberish came to an abrupt halt when he'd felt Michael clasp a hand onto his right shoulder, shaking him rather violently in an attempt to break him out of his stuttering trance. This succeeded, and Jeremy's, as mentioned earlier, ramblings stopped.

 

   Michael shot him a soft smile and a finger gun, rolling off of the bed with a groan as he wobbled towards the bathroom door. "Let's fix ourselves up, and then we'll make some half-assed blanket fort." And that was that for the duo's morning awakening: unnecessary rambling, stupid unwitting staring, and a certain tanned male laughing at his dearest friend's absurd behavior.

 

 

* * *

 

 

         The light brunette had almost forgotten about yesterday's soaking shenanigans, but he's just got on to reminding himself. At exactly nine fifty-two o' clock in the afternoon while the two sat at their signature beanbags and sulked about how terrifying Teletubbies are by comparing them to Furbies.

 

   "Teletubbies are far more superior when it comes to scary shit like this," Michael stated matter-of-factly, almost sounding /proud/ for saying such a thing.

 

   The taller played along with their made-up argument, shaking his head in a furious manner that, if possible, could have flown off of his neck right then and there. "No, no. Shut the fuck up, you uneducated piece of amazingness." — That last part wasn't meant to happen (he'd meant to say _idiot_ ), but Jeremy continued in hopes the other hadn't heard. "You are unbelievably wrong and will ultimately fail to stand strong in this verbal argumentative essay."

 

   Michael scoffed in mock offense.

 

   And with that, their argument silenced.

 

   "So," Jeremy says, clearing his throat to dismiss the quiet that once enveloped the room. "Blanket fort?"

 

   Michael nods, lips pressed into a thin line.

 

   "Blanket fort."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

         "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life." Jeremy declares heartily, a wide grin of triumph and pride splitting his face. Minutes pass and he's still grinning, swearing that his cheekbones may actually fall off because of it.

 

   Michael glanced at the other, then back at their perfect, amazing creation. A home consisting of the ends of a plain white, gigantuan thick-woolen blanket stuck beneath stacks of books to keep from sliding off tall chairs facing backward. Pillows littered both exterior and interior; Christmas lights from last year had been found kept in a box beneath Michael's mothers' bed and thrown atop the pristine sheet mindlessly, and plugged into an outlet hidden behind his bedside drawer.

 

   He never knew that was there until now. Huh, now he's got a place to charge his phone without having to slump his back until it's broken and sit on the uncomfortable floor of his room.

 

    Most incredibly convenient.

 

    Jeremy walked over, sucking in a breath as he carefully lifted the blanket over his head and crawled inside. " _The_ (Rather Temporary) _Humble Abode,_ " the two subconsciously agreed to name it. It seemed fitting, in a way, since the fort radiated a form of comfort, and safety, and the slightest bit of nostalgia.

 

    A home inside a home.

 

    The less pale of the two followed after, a lopsided grin plastering his face. They've got everything they needed awaiting to be of use to them in the corners of the duvet-oasis. Michael sucked in a breath, sharing a quick glance with Jeremy before flopping face-first upon the nearest pile of pillows. This will be one of the best things they've ever done in their entire life, and it always will be.

   The stillness and quietude the air held felt damp; thick. Pressuring for either of the two to speak, hum — do something that would emit noise from to rid of the silence. But albeit the awkwardness, there came comfort and tranquility.

 

    And so two mouths were kept shut.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

         The inseparable duo, after minutes upon minutes of sitting still and stealing quick glances at each other, smiled. They couldn't pinpoint why, but maybe it was to push away the awkwardness; maybe it was that this moment, despite barely haven't done anything, was amazing. Jeremy's breath hitched suddenly — an epiphany.

 

    Blue eyes met anticipating brown, Michael staring daggers into Jeremy expectantly. He honestly did not know what he was waiting for, but he felt that the acne-infested idiot would have something to say about last night. Michael knew the boy wouldn't halt his curiosities even if held at gunpoint, and so he waited.

 

    Moments of prolonged, appetence staring drag.

 

    "I'm sorry." His voiced cracked unintentionally, causing Jeremy to turn his head down sheepishly. Images and scenarios of last night clogged his mind, and for all he could know it could've been his fault. He didn't know what he did. What did he do? Was it because of before? Was it even about him? His throat itched in desperation.

    He continued, rubbing at his eyes to avoid welling tears. "I-I don't know wh-what I did, o-or what ha-happened," his voice shook violently, body racking with confusion and uncertainty.

 

    Michael's eyes widened, heart aching as he swiftly pulled the other into a gentle hug. "Hey, you didn't do anything, I swear. Just trust me on this one, okay?" he whispered against the other's ear quietly, mumbling reassurance. "I was just being stupid-sad about the past. I'm petty, I'm extremely petty. I'm a petty person."

 

    Jeremy frowned against Michael's shirt, eyebrows knit together in frustration and irrational, unexplainable guilt. Well, maybe not so much irrational, but definitely unexplainable. Sometimes feelings are just... difficult to find the words for. Instinctively, Jeremy's arms snaked around the other's neck, unwittingly pulling him closer. Michael blinks as his breath hitches sharply, to which Jeremy took notice of and almost immediately pulled away. Before he could, however, Michael refused to let him go and long story short, he's forced the other back into the hug and not once did he ever think about moving out of their position. They stayed like this for a long while.

 

    Sea-foam green eyes drooped, head pulling away from Michael's chest to take one final glance at his face before smiling softly and setting his head back to its previous position. The thinner shifted slightly, arms tediously snaking around to hug above his friend's waist.

    And they stayed like that for more than a long while, Michael pulling away momentarily to hurl extra blankets of various sizes over their two figures for comfort. Comfort they had, nothing but faint snores of the other was voiced, and wisps of enduring reassurance kept with tranquility sung with the evening air.

 

    The last set of eyes (which were of honey-glazed brown) gently shut, and peace overtook the Mell household, the troubling events of last night forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> i crave validation xx
> 
> edit: fixed some stuff woopsie  
> also this is kinda old but,,


End file.
